The Insecurities of a Hero
by megelert3
Summary: Harry, woken by the familiar stinging of his scar, contemplates. Who is he really? Will he still exist once Voldemort is dead?


LOL, it's a bit late for Harry Potter fanfiction, but w/e. I wrote it, and I thought I'd let you guys be the judge on how good it is. ;) It's basically about Harry and his insecurities about himself. Then Ron and Hermione help him out... It's pretty good, I guess. It doesn't really fit anywhere concretely in the series, except that its definitely after the 3rd book, and before the 7th. No major spoilers, though...

Also, if anyone's interested, its posted on my blog, along w/ a lot of other random stories (none of them are fanfiction, they're original). So check it out: **www. megelert3. wordpress. com** (just take the spaces out)

Thanks for reading, guys!!

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling.

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"Wormtail, you have once again disappointed me! Were my instructions not clear enough for you, or did you mess up on purpose?"

"N-n-n-never, m-my l-l-lord!"

He looked on with disdain, and utter disgust at the sniffling man before him. _How much I hate you, but without help I will perish. You shall be the first of my death eaters to die, you _filth

"If you disappoint me ever again, you will rue the day your pitiful mother ever gave birth to you," he hissed in a raspy voice, then broke out into coughs.

"A-a-are you all r-right, M-master?" the rat-like man squeaked as he bent over in pain.

His reddened eyes flashed in frustration and anger. "What do you think, you fool!" Another bout of coughing followed, and the Dark Lord screamed at his servant in anger.

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"Aaah!" Harry awoke with a start, his hand reaching up to his scar as it burned fiercely. It pulsed once, making the teen arch in blinding pain. He lay there, heart beating wildly, waiting for the pain to pass. His hands clutched at his bed sheets.

Slowly, the pain diminished, leaving his scar throbbing. With a low growl, he sat up.

"Great, now that I'm awake thanks to my bloody alarm, I won't be able to fall back asleep," he grumbled, sweat still dripping down from his hair. Already, he could feel the dream-vision fading from his memory.

He pushed the maroon curtains back, swung his legs out of bed half-heartedly, and fingered his glasses. His green eyes shifted to the window, where a full moon was visible.

"Wonderful, just bloody wonderful." He stood up, put the glasses on, and fumbled for his wand.

With the dull utterance of 'Lumos', he walked down into the Gryffindor common room with heavy steps, his lit wand in front of him.

Hermione, who'd been curled up in her favorite armchair, looked up from the book in her hands as he made his way down. "Harry?" she asked in a puzzled voice once he was close enough for her to see his face.

"Hullo, 'Mione. Doing a bit of late reading?" he asked dully, flopping down on the chair opposite her.

"Couldn't sleep, so I thought I'd get a head start on that Herbology reading," she answered, looking at him with calculating eyes.

It didn't take a genius – which Hermione was – to figure out what was wrong. His hand kept twitching up toward his face and the dark-haired boy kept wincing, as if in pain. Her brown eyes softened.

"Is it your scar again?" she asked softly, tucking her book away at her side. Harry looked up and sent her a glare.

"So, how's the reading going?" he grated out, scowling.

Hermione sighed. "Maybe it'll help if you tell me what you're feeling."

"You wouldn't understand," he muttered.

"Honestly, stop acting like you're five."

"Who's acting five?" came a sleepy voice from the stairs. Harry and Hermione looked over, seeing Ron in his ridiculous pajamas. He yawned widely as he climbed down and sank into the couch.

The lanky redhead rubbed his eyes with his fists and took a deep breath as if readying himself for something.

When he opened his eyes, they were solemn. "Harry, mate, were you having another nightmare of You-Know-Who?"

Harry's green eyes darkened and narrowed. He crossed his arms and hissed, "Will you two just drop it? I already told Hermione, and I'll tell you – you can't and won't understand!"

"Well at least we're trying! We want to know how you're feeling and try to help you if we can, or at least be there for you!" Hermione said adamantly, leaning forward. Ron nodded in agreement.

"Oh, you want to know, do you? Do you want to know how I feel _every_ ruddy day of my life?" Harry asked, his temper rising. At a nervous gesture from Ron, he lowered his voice to continue.

"I spend every day wondering - wondering about what my life could have been if that piece of filth, Wormtail, hadn't ratted out my parents. I wonder how it would have been if I was known for me, not my bloody name! I don't even know who I am!"

"You're Harry Potter—" Ron started, a look of confusion on his face.

"That's exactly what I mean! I'm always Harry _bloody_ Potter, the boy-who-lived. Or the one marked by the Dark Lord. Or the poor orphan whose parents were killed by the Dark Lord! So what am I?" he ended in a whisper, his breathing heavy.

Hermione, with wide eyes, sank back into the armchair. Ron just looked on, his face growing more alarmed by the second.

"Harry, you're our friend. You know that, right? _You_ are important to us. Not the boy-who-lived bull," the redhead said in a shaky voice.

"I know," he sighed, "but I can't help but wonder – if Voldemort were to die, who would I be? I... want my own identity, you know? I want to be free of 'the Dark Lord'."

"Mate, I understand," Ron said. Harry shot him a disbelieving look, so he cried out, "No really! I'm the youngest son in a family of nine, remember? Bill's working at Gringotts, Charlie's working with dragons, Percy's working for the Ministry, Fred and George are the only set of twins, and Ginny's the only girl. I'm stuck in the middle without anything special going for me. And it doesn't help that I'm not really good at anything," Ron finished glumly, looking down at the floor.

"Ron's right, Harry. None of us know who we are yet – we still have some time to figure that out! When most people look at me, they see a muggleborn, or in the famous words of the Slytherin, a _mudblood_. It hurts when they say that, but... I wouldn't change it for the world, because I know that I'm not _just_ a muggleborn. We're all so much more than our names or our families and backgrounds. We're individuals, too."

"Yeah, I mean – look at Sirius! Didn't he say that he was the only Black to be in Gryffindor? He wasn't held back by his name, or his barking family." Ron pointed out.

"I guess so," Harry said. "It's just, everything about me just leads back to Voldemort. It's a bit dreary to think of it like that, but sometimes I feel that I might just disappear once He's gone.

"Of course not! You mean so much more than that to us. You are _you_. Harry Potter, the boy-who-lived, the only Parseltongue besides You-Know-Who, the son of James and Lily Potter – all of these are just parts of you," Hermione said with a severe nod.

"Blimey, where does she come up with these things? Bloody genius," Ron mumbled, earning a smile from both his best friends. He grinned back at them.

"Well, she's right, Harry. Maybe you should meditate or something – find your 'inner self'."

"That's a wonderful idea! I can go check tomorrow if they have books on meditation in the library!"

Ron shot her a wide-eyed look. "I was just kidding, you know."

She snorted. "Yes, but it was a good idea, nonetheless."

"Honestly, you guys," Harry chuckled, the pain in his forehead forgotten. He looked over at the large grandfather clock in the Common Room. "And 'Mione, it's already tomorrow."

Ron swore colorfully, earning him a glare from the brown-haired girl. "We have double potions in the morning! We have a test!"

Their faces paled, and soon they were running up the stairs to their rooms. With a quick 'G'night!', they basically jumped into bed.

As he shifted around to find a comfortable position, Harry heard Ron's voice. He saw his best friend's blue eyes looking at him worriedly.

"Harry—" he began, but lowered his voice to a whisper when Neville turned over at the sound. "Mate, we're here for you. Don't do anything drastic, okay? Or at least, without us, that is." He smiled humorlessly, which was strange for the redhead.

Harry gave him a wry grin. "Any more drastic than meditation? But, thanks. It means a lot that you guys were there while I went temporarily barmy."

Ron snorted, and closed his curtains. "G'night then, Harry. We're gonna need our sleep, since we'll be failing another Potions test soon, which takes a lot of energy out of a man, let me tell you."

Harry shook his head, smiling. It still bothered him about his identity, but he figured his friends were right – there was still time to figure all that out.


End file.
